


The Development Lifecycle

by Project0506



Series: Soft Wars [148]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Engineers, Gen, Humor, Project Management, Star Wars AU - Soft Wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 05:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29994750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506
Summary: Following the life of a Torrent development project
Series: Soft Wars [148]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683775
Comments: 27
Kudos: 212





	1. Chapter 1

_**Prototyping** _

Tup grumbles. “That was not the most expected outcome.”

There’s something fizzling contentedly, alarmingly out of sight. Sparks sputter from the tangle of wires and circuitry dominating half the room. Somewhere in the middle of it, something beeps a cheery tune.

“‘t was a bleedin’ disaster ‘s what it was,” Tinker corrects faux-amiably. “‘t was the sort of something ya only do if there’s fluff in ya brains instead of goo.” He grins. It is, on a whole, disturbingly reminiscent of an adolescent aiwha. “Heh. I’m a poet.”

“Now now gentlemen,” Anakin cuts in. He’s borrowing Obi-Wan’s mannerisms for this, partly because it never fails to distract and partly to amuse himself. His engineers are _more chaotic than he is_. Without too much of his influence even. Tup, Zeer and Tinker just needed a smidge of leeway and a spot of workspace and they blossomed like a mushroom cloud. “That’s the wrong attitude.” Tinker still looks half a second from leaping the workbench and going after Tup with his teeth. Tup is frizzing like the galaxy’s most manic polycotton q-tip. Zeer’s very casually ambled over to the closest fire extinguisher.

Kix has made them install five of them just in the workroom. One for each of them typically on deck at once, plus an extra for whichever vod they’re building something for. There’s not a lot of trust in their abilities.

The pile pinned to the anti-static workbench like the metal skeleton of a bird makes a high pitched noise of a deflating ball. Which is… something. As far as Anakin knew, there shouldn’t have been _anything_ under pressure in its tanks.

“So we’ve successfully discovered a way to _not_ build a. What is that exactly?”

“Belt-fed paired rotary cannons with back-packable ammo storage,” Tup rattles off.

‘ _G_ _ot heavy_ ,’ Zeer signs. ‘ _Had to_ _build in braces_.’ He shrugs. He makes a sign that Torrent had to invent themselves. Standard battlesign didn’t have anything that meant ‘Things got out of hand’ with the nuance of ‘not yet fatal but possibly still explosive’.

“’s a karkin’ exosuit General,” Tinker interrupts. “One a those stupid carapace designies. Might be started as gunnery. ‘S more brace than bullet, by now.”

“And _I was saying_ that we _didn’t have a choice_ if we wanted to keep it man-portable,” Tup hisses.

‘ _T_ _wo twenty five kilograms unloaded,_ ’ Zeer agrees. ‘ _T_ _wice that with full ammo,_ _declarative_.’ The distant fizzle crescendos, the contraption spits. A pulse of electricity discharge lights up the whole pile blue and dies away as the anti-static circuitry does it’s job. ‘ _Also does that. Occasional._ _D_ _ecided bad idea to have against someone’s spine._ _Likely_.’

“No, no that was probably a good call.” Tup and Tinker have given up any pretense of civility. They’re a minute or two from a slap-fight, Anakin can tell. “But. Any reason why we couldn’t just go with smaller guns? Smaller caliber ammo?”

Zeer stares at him. Tup and Tinker interrupt their argument to join. Anakin sighs, silently.

“Smaller guns?” Tup breathes like a curse.

“Forget I said that,” Anakin mutters but it’s too late.

“ _Smaller_ guns!?”

“’t would defeat th’ entire _point_ General,” Tinker protests. “We’d might as well jest tape a couple a blasters together n call it solid."

“Why don’t we just _slingshot_ the ammo at them? Or. Or no _heft_ them javelin style.” Tup tugs on the end of his braid, aggravated.

“I _said_ forget it,” Anakin grouses. “I realize how dumb a question it was.”

“We could form a _conveyor line_ and just oop oop oop the bullets down the battlefield won’t that be _fun_.”

“Jest _whack em_ with the barrely-bits. Mebbe holler something _real intimidating_ whiles we do it like ‘NIGHTY NIGHT’ fer assholey-shooting-Forcey’s _sake_.”

‘ _Did you have to trigger explosion question,_ ’ Zeer signs and blinks the biggest, saddest, fakest eyes at him.

“Mouth subroutine triggered before the brain finished processing.” Anakin would admit to a whole lot worse to turn those akk pup eyes on someone else.

Tinker scoffs. “’s long as you not gettin’ soft on us.”

“Or, or _maybe_ we could tell the clankers hey hold on a second can you just hold this ammo for us while we-”

“ _Oi_.” Tinker snaps. He slings a wrench, there’s a clang. “ _Give_ _i_ _t ta th’ Force ya sludge_.”

Tup, understandably, redirects his griping with violent prejudice. Anakin diverts the next airborne wrench to his grip before it takes a chip out of anyone’s armor. He ducks and also snags the screwdriver that goes flying out of the air. This, Anakin thinks, must be the difference between Technicians and Engineers.

If something’s frustratingly wrong, Technicians violence the hardware. Engineers violence the dissidents.

‘ _Admiration General. Always helpful declarative._ ’ Zeer has the second sunniest smile in the 501st. He contends Tup’s was only voted better because of the fluffy hair.

“Alright!” There’s a twist to the tone of the word and a quality to the single clap of Anakin’s hands. Every single vod to go through Hardcase’s training has been somewhat conditioned to respond to that immediately. Anakin has stolen it from him without shame and exploits it mercilessly. All three engineers snap their heads in his direction.

It’s really oddly gratifying.

“I think right now we’re thinking in circles.”

“Tiny, _small_ _caliber_ circles,” Tup mutters. Anakin decides to ignore him. There’s plenty of time between now and beddown to get Tup deeply focused on something besides being annoyed at him. And if not, Anakin will hide until said distraction presents itself. It’s a solid-enough life choice.

“ _W_ _hat we need_ ,” Anakin says loudly, “is a change of scenery. Clear our heads.”

The project gurgles something burbly and sparking. There’s a clang like a gong hit deep in the abyss. They stare at it. It obligingly burps a single, iridescent bubble.

“Yep,” Tup says.

‘ _Declarative,_ ’ Zeer sighs.

Tinker nods. “I’ll git a keg down.”


	2. Chapter 2

~~_ **User Review** _ ~~

~~_ **Critical Design Review** _ ~~

~~_ **Preliminary Design Review** _ ~~

~~_ **Requirements Review** _ ~~

_ **Requirements Definition** _ _ **(Come on guys this is IMPORTANT)** _

Anakin is a General, Hardcase guesses, so he probably gets some privileges. Why he’s using that privilege to slink around back behind Hardcase, quiet and carefully avoiding drawing attention like a tooka that’s due for a scolding is anyone’s guess.

After all, Hardcase thinks he’s asking perfectly reasonable questions?

“I don’t git it,” Tinker mumbles.

Zeer, too, looks politely confused.

Tup is. Huh, okay they’re at that point already? Tup is propped up between a newly-tapped keg and the bunk, glazed-eyed patting a gun barrel rhythmically. Oh, he’s pep-talking the thing, so very sweetly: it’s perfect the way it is and it shouldn’t let anyone try to change it. Tup is such an adorable vod’ika. Hardcase rummages for an unplanned sleepover blanket.

Hardcase’s quarters are the strangest on the ship.

He’d been happy enough to trade with Kix when he and Jesse stopped pretending to flirt and started getting serious, but he’d been sure he was setting himself up for some lonely times in exchange. After all, Hardcase had never had a single room before. He’d adjust, he knew he would, but he’d thought maybe it’d take some time, be a little difficult in the meanwhile. Worth it, for his two friends’ happiness, of course but-

Well.

Hardcase has learned very quickly to never underestimate just _how_ soft Jesse’s soft gooey interior is under his prickly pinepear shell. The room Kix moved out of was a head medic’s single. The room Hardcase moved into was a workshop paradise, with a bed shoved up in a corner.

Hardcase’s Engineers, sometimes even the shinies, wander in and out as they please. They set up their projects on whatever desk space hasn’t been claimed, they roll out sleeping pads on the floor when experiments roll into their third and fourth days. They spill out into and down the hallways, across shelves bolted firmly to durasteel walls. Hardcase has half an armory in some state of repair stored under his bunk. He’s got floor to ceiling shelving of tools and fasteners and accessories far past what he even recognizes.

He is surrounded with his people and his loves, yes even the projectile ones, and Hardcase is hunkered down in the middle of it, happy.

Jesse had flushed an ugly pleased when Hardcase had hugged him off his feet. He’d firmly ordered it never to be spoken of again. Hardcase makes sure he knows that every single time he gags at the banthadoe eyes Jesse points at Kix, he secretly also means thank you.

Hardcase idly signs _volume low_ and his boys nod. They keep it quiet and if no one makes any sudden moves, Tup’ll probably doze right off there with his head on the edge of Hardcase’s mattress. Looks like it’s been several hours past when he probably should have.

Tup doesn’t twitch when Hardcase settles the bunchy-knit over his shoulders.

The others do twitch, when he turns back to them. Optimistic bunch, to think that Hardcase might have gotten side-tracked that easily.

“I just want to know what problem we’re currently trying to solve,” Hardcase repeats.

Tinker looks at the coil of feed line he’s got tucked under one arm and opens his mouth to answer something Hardcase already knows is not even remotely relevant.

“Big picture,” Hardcase corrects quickly. “Not ‘what is currently not working’.”

“Most things,” Anakin mutters.

‘ _Most_ _things working before the rocket boosters’_ Zeer corrects. ‘ _Mostly working_.’

“Rocket boosters would be wizard though.”

Tinker and Zeer both nod solemnly.

“If we git the coolant run a far enough piece from the fuel lines mebbe-”

Hardcase nearly claps. Tup’s head bobs down to his chest and at the last minute the gunner remembers to snap instead. The boys flip attention back to him.

“Big picture,” Hardcase reminds.

He’d argued once, right at the very beginning of the war, against Captain Rex’s completely insane plan to put _Hardcase_ in charge of the Engineers.

Captain Rex had shot him that smile he’d soon learn meant ‘things will soon get _very_ fun’. “I don’t need you to be technical,” the Captain had said. “I need you to be able to herd.”

It’s really too true.

“This thing-”

‘ _Belt-fed-_ ’

“Whatever it is, what do you want it to do-”

“Kriffing work, for one-”

“Yes thank you Anakin, what is the problem _this whole entire project_ is supposed to fix.”

His three conscious, mostly coherent boys glance between each other, flip through eyebrow semaphore that is probably at least half in binary.

“Seppies ain’t got enough ventilation, so’s we’re introducin’ more holes?” Tinker tries.

“Okay. We’re getting somewhere.” To an outside observer, Hardcase can admit, that might appear to be a honking lie. “Why does it need to fly?”

“It has to,” Anakin insists. “There’s really no way to keep this man-packable. So, if it’s _already_ going to be too heavy for one person to carry-”

“Why is it too heavy to carry?”

“Big,” Tup murmurs. “Is beautiful.”

“And why does it need to be big?”

‘ _Bigger holes._ ’

“And why does it need to make bigger holes.”

The three upright ones get _that_ look on their faces. Hardcase is very acquainted with the one. It’s the one that wants to say ‘because it’ll look cool’.

Hardcase also learned, very early on, to ban _that_ as justification. Whatever they build must, he’s maintained, have a reason _besides_ looking cool.

The Thing is pinned out across where Anakin typically works on prosthetics, probably to take advantage of the helper frame he’s rigged to hold things steady. Someone has run an extension cord down the hall to get it on a separate breaker from whatever is glowing blue and globbing interestingly in the tubes to the left.

The tubes gloop a bubble. Zeer digs a box of drill bits out from under his rump and determinedly inspects them. Anakin picks up a multiwrench to fiddle. Tinker hefts his coiling up higher on his shoulder and stares far too intently at the waste water pipes above. Tup’s head finally dips all the way down to his chest.

“Guys?” Hardcase prompts softly.

He knows he’s grinning, a little. He knows he’s probably way too indulgent with his boys. Then again, this is Torrent: Hardcase has learned ‘indulgent’ from the very best.

“Hey sir,” Zeer creaks.

Oh no. Hardcase knows _that_ grin too. That’s the one that they get when they’re being _cheeky_.

Hardcase adores these assholes.

“Remember when they stole the jetpacks?” Audible words used up, Zeer adds ‘ _Those guys_ ’, as if anyone has any confusion.

Hardcase sighs. “Do I need to ban ‘because Wolfpack’ for justification now?” he whines.

“They _did_ take the jetpacks though,” Anakin muses.

“ _Some_ jetpacks, they took _some_ jetpacks. And we’ve already paid them back for that.”

“Yea but LT we gotta git something _better_ than jetpacks if they got em too.”

“Tactical Superiority,” Anakin contributes, the kind of smug that says he’s exploiting this tenday’s homework reading.

‘ _Secrets shared, LT,_ ’ Zeer signs. ‘ _Equals secrets exposed_.’

“And it’s the _Wolfpack_ Hardcase, they can’t contain a silverfish in a flimsiplast bag.”

“Seppies probably already got all the finey details on them jetpacks, LT. We _have_ ta replace em if we wanna stay ahead.”

Brilliant, adorable assholes.

“Cooler,” Tup insists and Hardcase can’t tell if he’s awake, “than jetpacks.”

“Hardcase,” Anakin says, very seriously. “Are we really going to let the _Wolfpack_ outgun us?”

The faces that surround him fall in unison to ‘endearingly earnest’. Hardcase’s boys are terrible liars. They must have gotten it from someone else, he’s sure.

He sighs, defeated. They clearly have his comm codes.

“Kark those guys,” he grumbles.

Every single one of Hardcase’s boys grins.


	3. Chapter 3

_ **Testing** _

“I’m gonna say it.”

“Don’t say it.”

“I’m gonna say it. How are those more efficient than a vod with a blaster in a jetpack?”

Echo twitches as down below Hardcase and his assorted minions draw themselves up in affront. “You said it,” he groans.

“It’s not about _efficiency_ , Jesse!” Hardcase chastises. “It’s about _style_. It’s about making a _statement_. It’s about sending that thieving puppypack _a message_.”

Echo’s already ordered the hangar clear for a hundred feet. He’d gotten the Larties shoved all the way back up against the bulkhead and the fighters rolled to hug one side wall, their wings folded up out of the way. He’s fetched all five hand-held fire extinguishers from the prep room and checked that the overhead suppression system read all clear. He feels, he thinks, wholly unprepared to deal with whatever is coming.

Engineering’s statements tended to be memorable. Add anything at all to do with Wolfpack, and they trend more towards explosive.

“And the statement you’re trying to make is?” Jesse, as is usual by now, ignores everything to do with The Crush That Must Not Be Spoken Of Aloud. The betting is fierce and the pot is hotly contested; no one wants to be the one caught stacking the wagers.

Hardcase huffs and very deliberately turns his back on them.

“The ‘statement’ is probably that they’re not jetpacks.” Jesse still looks vaguely confused. “Captain Rex banned use of the jetpacks in the hangar after last time.”

Realization dawns and humor follows. “And those aren’t jetpacks.”

“And the Captain isn’t here to ban those too.”

Unsaid is that _Jesse_ could ban them. He won’t. Echo knows he’s only here to collect blackmail, and maybe point and laugh if something catches on fire.

Someone rolls out something that looks like a spiderdroid, legs ending in what could be LR rifle barrels with some sort of sensor cluster under the body and bolts it to the bottom of one of the… well tibanna powered hoverboards.

“What are they calling those things?”

“Boogie boards,” Echo quotes. “Because when they fly in, the party _really_ gets started.”

Jesse contemplates. “I think my brain just cringed,” he finally decides.

Ahsoka clambers up on top of the Thing and leans down to listen carefully to both Anakin and Tinker’s instructions.

At least, Echo thinks, she’s wearing armor. When Kix finds out about this (and he will) Echo will make sure to stress that. At the very, very least, Ahsoka is wearing armor.

Echo will also absolutely without hesitation throw her and all the rest of them directly in front of that speeder.

No, he’s not jealous no one asked _him_ to test the amazing fly-y shooty thing. Not at all. He’d thank you to prove that before making such accusations. It’s not like Echo is an ARC Trooper trained to handle dangerous situations, noooo.

Echo hefts his fire extinguisher, contemplating. Hm. No. He stacks it next to Jesse and goes to fetch the hangar hose.

At the very, _very_ first sign of sparks or flares he’s going to absolutely drench every single vod below.

For safety, you understand. Not at all because he’s jealous.


	4. Chapter 4

_ **Production, Distribution** _

Priority  Alert

Neyo: So.

Priority Response

Neyo: I already have a good idea how this is gonna go.

Priority Response

Ponds: This is spectacular timing, I just made bangcorn.

Priority Response

Cody: You know there actually _is_ a manual for using Priority Chat. Regulations. _Procedures_.

Priority Response

Neyo: That’s sweet.

Priority Response

Neyo: I got myself an operational requirement for boogie boards. Have a nice neat justification and everything. How the kriff do we get one.

Priority Response

Cody: What?

Priority Response

Ponds: What?

Priority Response

Fox: I am going _fuckin_ _g_ _gray_ because every single time a fucking ding goes off on my wrist literal years of my life drain away.

Priority Response

Jet: Oh cute! Didn’t know the drama is a family thing Neyo.

Priority Response

Fox: Did you just read the same shit I just read with my own two eyes? I have optic nerves that _died_ with that as the last thing flashed into their NAND.

Priority Response

Ponds: What are boogie boards?

Priority Response

Doom: Does literally anyone actually need to ask this.

Priority Response

Gree: Non-traditional name

Priority Response

Fox: You mean ‘idiotic’.

Priority Response

Gree: And not listed in GAR equipment inventory.

Priority Response

Fox: You mean ‘clearly illegal’.

Priority Response

Jet: Torrent?

Priority Response

Neyo: Torrent. And I want one.

Priority Response

Cody: _REX_

Priority Response

Cody: _Again_?

Priority Response

Gree: So.

Priority Response

Ponds: Hold everything, this has been upgraded from a bangcorn show to a nacho show.

Priority Response

Cody: Please people we are _professionals_ and this is a _professional communication system_

Priority Response

Doom: Are we. Really.

Priority Response

Neyo: That’s karking sus vod.

Priority Response

Cody: I don’t think I’m asking all that much for us to be a _little_ more conscientious.

Priority Response

Neyo: Is that a fruit? Can you make pudding with it?

Priority Response

Ponds: Okay back, cheesily armed. Gree, please do continue with your very leading ‘so’.

Priority Response

Gree: So Rex is running with Wave this sortie. He and his medic just got off shift, probably already asleep.

Priority Response

Neyo: Wake him up this is a matter of galactic security.

Priority Response

Jet: Wait if Rex is with Wave, who is running Torrent?

Priority Response

Gree: That’s the thing. No one. Or well, Torrent Command. None of whom are in Priority Chat.

Priority Response

Fox: So for as long as the blond shit’s been in your kama pouch, you’re telling me literally _no one_ was keeping an eye on the fuckheads???

Priority Response

Fox: This silence is not fucking comforting.

Priority Response

Doom: I am checking which quadrant is on fire.

Priority Response

Wolffe: Commed one of the LTs. He says everything’s fine.

Priority Response

Wolffe: He says they’re not making any doomsday weapons.

Priority Response

Neyo: Where do I get a boogie board???

Priority Response

Wolffe: He says you can’t.

Priority Response

Wolffe: He says ‘they found it’.

Priority Response

Rex: Well there you go then.


	5. Chapter 5

_ **Replacement** _

“Nooooooo,” Droidbait mourns softly. “Not it. _Please_ not it.”

Fives crams his head deep under the pillow and curses. They all know damn well that Droidbait, Cutup and Hevy are _it_. They’re the ones shipping out in the morning; if there’s an emergency that’s sending a vod pelting down the halls, it’d be because there’s an early call.

“Please be it,” Anakin grumbles. “Cuz if you’re not it, then _I’m_ it.”

Right. Fives forgets Anakin’s… important. Sometimes. In his defense, it’s hard to remember that about the guy who you have to physically tow before oh-seven and five shots of caff or he’ll crash into something.

In the dark, Anakin’s little more than a grumpy rumple of dark blond hair sticking out of a cocoon of blankets. “Why don’t you go be Generally and preempt whatever that is?” Fives asks hopefully. He gets a grunt, and the grumpy rumple retreating into its grumpy roll.

“Why don’t you get kriffed?”

“You can’t afford me-”

“With a multitensil-”

“And you definitely can’t afford the kinky stuff-”

“And _twice on Taungsdays_.”

“Rude.”

Anakin flips something even more rude. That will just not stand.

Fives lines sights up carefully. He lets it fly: one projectile boot dead center at Anakin’s-

Anakin doesn’t need to even budge. The boot reverses course and slams heel first against Five’s forehead. It hurts like a _whelping seapony_.

“I,” Hevy informs them from face firmly down in his pillow, “hate all of you.”

“I don’t even live here,” Echo mumbles as if saying it often enough will make it true. Cutup snores unperturbed. Fives can’t tell if he’s faking.

“Release your whining into the Force or something,” Droidbait yawns. “Get all Balanced. Jedi-like. But silently.”

“Somewhere in this galaxy,” Anakin mumbles, “Obi-Wan is very annoyed at me and doesn’t even know why.”

“ _I’m_ annoyed,” Fives points out. He’s going to have the _dumbest_ bruise in the morning and the medics are sadistic enough to leave it. “I’m very annoyed-”

“I know the feeling,” Hevy grunts.

“-And I _do_ know why-”

The dorm doors fly open. Harsh cruel lights raze through the air and Domino Squad and Anakin hiss and burrow into their bunks like cavegrubs under headlamps.

“Oh Good,” Tup chirps. “You’re Awake.”

Fives risks a single glance. Oh. Oh no. Tup is bruise-eyed and pineshrub-haired and vibrating like spicer doing taste testing. Way too much caff, way too much energy, way too many ideas. It’s way too late for this. Every vod for himself. “Hi Tup, what a coincidence Anakin was just saying-”

“Fives I will dye you green and tell Rex you’re rooting for Fwillsving to take the cup.”

“Go ahead you brat, the Captain gets _real passionate_ about his boloball and when he’s all wound up it’s _real fun_ -”

Fives’ boot rips out of his hand and slams heel-first right on the softening spot. Y’know what? Fives thinks he maybe deserved that last one. Still gonna have to make Anakin pay eventually.

“General!” Tup sings. “Since you’re up. I was thinking about that stupid thing you said that one time-”

“You have _got_ to let that go,” Anakin groans. Tup is too far gone to hear him.

“Into the Force?” Fives’ boot jerks from his hand and flies off to savage Droidbait for his impertinence.

“-about asking the Seppies to pretty please stay still and hold the explosives-”

“ _I did not_ say that _-”_

“Was that the dumbest thing you’ve ever said?” The boot diverts, smacks some annoyance into Hevy.

“Sand,” Echo reminds. “Coarse. Irritating.” The boot visits him too, to make nearly the full tour.

“‘You look all grown up too’,” is Fives addition and his boot shoots its way back to his face.

“-and I had a thought.” Tup vibrates like a bowcaster strung too tight. He grins and Fives’ own face aches in sympathy. Or, partially sympathy. Mostly the boot thing. “ _What if we asked the Seppies to_ _hold still!_ ”

That. Probably makes a lot more sense in Tup’s head. Fives assumes. Hopes.

“It’s brilliant,” Tup assures them all. He’s far past the mortal need for external feedback. “You have to see it, it’s going to be so great. Cutup!”

“No,” Cutup says companionably. Definitely faking then.

“Yes,” Tup rejoins. “I need a slicer.”

“Get Stak.”

“No. Get up. You too General, come on. There’s a _project_ to do!”

“What if,” Anakin grumbles, “and just to be clear I’m _not_ saying ‘no’, I’m just clarifying: what if I say no.”

Tup grins harder. “I have listened to the Get Along Song on repeat for sixteen hours.”

Fives doesn’t know what it means. None of them, he’s pretty sure, knows what that means. It sounds like something that will make a man dead inside. Domino’s heads bob up like prariecats, and they exchange confused, wary looks.

“The Get Along Song is gonna win this engagement, General,” Tup declares and Fives is very, very concerned about just how much sleep Tup’s gotten. “I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

“Well I guess if you’ve got a good feeling.” It’s banthashit and Anakin knows it.

Under the fold of his blanket, Echo is clearly comming someone. Hopefully it’s Jesse, and hopefully Jesse’s either summoning Dogma or Lt Kix.

“Cutup.”

“No.”

“Bring him, General,” Tup orders. He slams away before any opposition can dare be leveled.

“Anakin,” Cutup says pleasantly into the silence. “Don’t you dare.”

“It’s zero three hundred Cutup. I will not suffer alone.”

“But you _will_ suffer _elsewhere_ ,” Hevy barks. He can’t see the kark-you-kindly Anakin throws, but they all know it’s there.

Feet crammed into boots that are definitely not his, baggy sleep pants and an equally stolen sweater, a ragged Anakin trudges along in Tup’s jetwash. Cutup, blankets and all, bobs along merrily in the air behind him.

They leave the light on.

“I hate this squad,” Fives sighs.

Droidbait giggles. “Give it to the Force.”

Fives wings him with his boot.


End file.
